


Unwillingly In Her Snare

by Opalgirl



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalgirl/pseuds/Opalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raoul sees her for what she is. No one else does. But yet he wound up snared by her, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwillingly In Her Snare

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Myles' line in ItHotG: "I'm staying to watch the pretty little Eldorne girl try to hook every eligible male at Court." Wouldn't it have infuriated Delia if she couldn't hook one (or more) of them?
> 
> Written for the Peculiar Pairings fic-a-thon at [Goldenlake](http://fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com/index.cgi).

Raoul raised his head and looked around the room, bleary-eyed. It was his own room in the palace, and he was in his own bed. Good. His bedmate was most definitely female – the long hair and the visible curves of her breasts and hips told him that much. Good. She _did_ look more like the sort of lady Jon would pursue, but he couldn’t do anything now but hope that she wasn’t married. He wasn’t in _any_ state to deal with a furious husband.

The building headache he had was not as welcome, but it was a sign he was alive. Somehow, he’d made his way to bed.

Delia of Eldorne sat up, her thick chestnut-colored hair falling over her shoulders and nearly to her waist. “Good morning, Sir Raoul.” Her green eyes were bright, but the smile on her full lips didn’t reach them. It was the same smile she wore at Court.

“… Delia?” He rubbed his eyes. “What?”

The lady got up and walked around the bed, taking the coverlet with her. Suitably covered, she walked to the window, threw open the shutters, and peered out. “Perhaps I should say good afternoon instead.”

Raoul swore, as the noon sun streamed into the room. “I’m sorry, Lady Delia,” he said, hurriedly, remembering her presence. He did _not_ remember bringing her back here.

Her smile broadened, as he struggled from bed and found his loincloth, along with last night’s clothing. “Nonsense. Why, I should be honored.” She was able to touch his shoulder with one delicate hand. Mithros, her eyes were striking even when she was wrapped in nothing but a blanket. She dressed as he did, pulling on her garments with surprising speed, and lacing even the silk gown herself.

A loud knock sounded at the door and Raoul groaned; the sound made his head hurt.

“Raoul? It’s Alan. Jon said you might need my hangover cure and it’s almost noon…”

_Of course_ it was noble minded Alan, who did not flirt with ladies, who didn’t tumble said ladies, and who got up at dawn every morning. Raoul grumbled as Delia opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Squire Alan.” Delia’s voice was throaty and full of charm.

Alan bowed, awkwardly. “Lady Delia.”

The stocky redhead kissed the proffered hand and nodded his head at the room behind the lady. “If you’ll pardon me, my lady, I…” Alan trailed off and flinched as Delia put her dainty white hand underneath his chin.

She smiled, somehow making the expression look unfriendly. “Pity,” she said, idly toying with her hair with her free hand. “You would think a lad your age would have more interest in the ladies, Squire. Your knight-master certainly does.”

Alan bristled visibly and blushed, but said nothing.

“Unless, of course…” Delia tapped her own jaw with a finger, as if she was thinking. “Never mind, Squire. How improper of me, to keep you from your duties. Sir Raoul.” She let go of Alan and curtsied.

Raoul bowed grudgingly, and the annoying, scheming girl swept out in a rustle of silk, shutting the door behind her.

Alan’s purple eyes were bright with curiosity and Raoul glared at him. “Not one word from you,” he threatened, splashing cold water from the basin over his face. _I am telling Douglass to never,_ ever _let me drink again,_ he thought, and let his fist smack the top of the wardrobe for good measure.

“She’s...”

“The Lady Delia is a beauty, knows it, is _annoying_ as can be, and would just as easily turn on a man as help him,” Raoul said through clenched teeth. “I knew that.”

“Good,” Alan said, dryly, setting the bottle containing the hangover cure on the desk. “Jon doesn’t.”

Raoul swore. “Go away, Alan.” But the lad was already out the door, that damnable cat perched on his shoulder. Now to find Douglass, so he could make sure last night would _never_ happen again.

 


End file.
